The Last Time I Died
by Bigsciencybrain
Summary: After the defeat of the First Evil, the universe has plans for Buffy. Chronicles of Riddick crossover.
1. Hell Hath No Starbucks

**Title:** The Last Time I Died  
**Author:** Aeneas  
**Pairing/Character:** Riddick/Buffy  
**Word Count:** About 17,900  
**Rating:** R  
**Summary:** After the defeat of the First Evil, the universe has plans for Buffy.  
**Spoilers/Warnings:** Through _Chosen_ and _Chronicles of Riddick_.  
**Disclaimer:** Not my sandbox, I just play there. All things belong to Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy and David Twohy/Universal, respectively.  
**A/N:** Challenge prompt was – "There is no death, only a change of worlds." American Indian Proverb, Duwamish. Note to the requester, I tried Angel meeting Riddick first and got completely stuck at about 10,000 words. This was intended to be a much shorter alternate fic when it became apparent that I was going to miss the deadline. Famous last words.

**Hell Hath No Starbucks**

Buffy let go of Spike's hand, pulling her fingers out of the flames engulfing his skin and running as fast as she could for the narrow staircase that curved up to the surface. The basement had turned into a series of deathtraps waiting to snap down around her and the upper levels of the school were rapidly crumbling to pieces. Stairs ended and she skidded into the hallway, searching for any friends who might have fallen behind.

Tiles split with a shriek as a gaping mouth opened up, spreading out a vicious smile that swept the floor out from under her feet and sent her spiraling down into the darkness. Her cries for help echoed between the sides of the chasm and rocks crashed against the walls, set loose by her attempts to find stone or root strong enough to slow her fall.

The sudden stop at the bottom felt like a battle with a freight train. A battle that she lost and left her spitting dirt and blood along with the air knocked from her lungs. She winced, moaned, and tried to breathe with what felt like several cracked ribs. This was the perfect end to a really sucky apocalypse. There was no light above her and no sight of the edge she had plummeted over. All she could do was hope that the rest of her tiny army had made it out of Sunnydale alive.

"Ow, ow. This was so not the plan." She tried rolling and twisting to ease up into a sitting position. There was blood soaking through the elbow of her jacket and a jagged tear in her jeans just below her knee. One of her heels had broken in the fall. "Great. I'm probably an entire hell dimension away from a decent shopping mall."

Every inch of her body ached as she climbed to her feet, holding her elbow to stem the flow of blood, and peered into the darkness around her. There was wind blowing toward her left, whistling faintly as it twisted through the rocks. It was as good a direction as any so she started that way, feeling for the solidity of the walls as a guide. Her boots scuffed against rock and dirt clods and she bumped her head several times, unable to see the obstacles coming before she walked headlong into them.

When she realized that she was actually seeing the vague outlines of boulders, she thought it was her mind playing tricks on her in the darkness. The narrow pathway she was following hit a solid wall with light trickling down from above.

"Can't I fall into a hell that doesn't have a climbing wall? How about marble tile? Or some nice linoleum," she muttered to no one.

Hand over hand, she worked her way up over the wall, ignoring the stinging pain in her arm and leg as best she could. She was sure there was a cosmic rule that she couldn't possibly escape the apocalypse without ruining at least one outfit.

Her hand reached a flat outcropping that felt large enough to put both feet on. It was lighter above her head as she wiggled onto the landing. Roots snagged her hair and sent more dirt sprinkling down. She coughed against the dust, reaching up to dig her fingers into the soil and pull away chunks of it. More light poured in, making her eyes water and burn. It was going to take forever to get all the dirt out of her hair and pores. And there was no way she had been lucky enough to land in a hell that carried Oil of Olay facial cleansers.

More of the ground gave way as she forced her way up through the surface and into the sun. Coughing and choking, she spat dirt out of her mouth and eyed the gigantic orange sun burning above her. That was not her sun. Way too big and way too orange-y to be her sun. She looked around at the barren landscape. It consisted mostly of rock worn smooth under the constant onslaught of wind and gnarled trees with bark blacker than pitch. No grass, no roads, and no California in sight.

"Well. This sucks."

The wind howled in answer. It was colder above the surface than it had been underground; her stomach beginning to rumble as she crawled out of the earth and climbed to her feet. Since it didn't particularly matter which part of nowhere she started toward, she hoped it was the part with a Starbucks and a Marriott. The dream of thousand thread count sheets, fluffy pillows, and a jetted hot tub kept her limping across the barren landscape.

By the time the sun had begun to slip over the horizon, she had blisters on her heels from the awkward limping due to her broken heel and there were only more of the ugly trees as far as she could see. She kept trudging along because it was either that or sit down on the filthy ground and wait for whatever went bump in the night to eat her.

In the sharply angled light of the setting sun, she realized that what she had thought was a gigantic tree was too oddly shaped to be organic. It was a structure, top heavy and crafted by tools rather than nature. She altered her original course, heading straight toward the towering colossus and whatever may have built it. If they were friendly, maybe they had a shower and if they weren't, well, then she'd say hello the old-fashioned way.

The shadow of the tower dropped the temperature of the air a solid ten degrees and gave her a taste of what night would bring in this strange world. She passed by one of the black trees close enough to see that they bore small, dark green leaves clustered into groups of four or six, each with razor sharp edges. Even the patches of grass seemed to slice and cut as they shivered in the wind; the whole landscape was made of blades.

As she got nearer to the monstrosity, she could see flickering lights and either her ears were playing tricks on her or there were human-like voices carried along by the wind.

"Please don't be demons. No horns, no fangs, no scaly things with uber morning breath," she muttered.

Lumpy boulders strewn about the mammoth tower turned out to be spaceships hunkered down in a tableau of mechanical obeisance; the source of the voices was an army milling about the empty space between the craft with jaggedly ridged armor and heavy boots crunching the twisting grass into splinters. There were no horns or tails in sight, but she slowed her approach and warily searched for anything that would give her a hint as to what kind of people they were. Armor and weapons weren't usually good signs when one was wandering through an unfamiliar hell dimension.

She froze when a soldier began shouting and pointing in her direction. There were far too many of them for her to fight and outrunning them with one broken boot heel wasn't particularly likely. She held her ground and tried not to look worried as a group of them surrounded her, weapons pointed steadily in her direction.

"Take me to your leader?" she requested with false cheerfulness.

The man who appeared to be in charge towered over her, his face permanently set in an angry scowl. He studied her with blatant suspicion for several moments before nodding to the others. "Bring her to the Basilica. Let the Lord Marshal deal with her."

"There doesn't happen to be a shower at this Basilica thing…hey!" She glared back at the soldier who had jabbed her in the back with a wicked looking spear, but allowed them to herd her toward the largest of the strange ships. As long as all their weapons were pointed at her, the best idea was to play along and see what hand she'd been dealt.

A female or two appeared as they neared the Basilica and Buffy could tell from their skintight apparel that these people weren't exactly equal opportunity. The men did the fighting and, well, she had no idea how the women even managed to breathe in the elaborate dresses. If they expected her to give up her jeans in exchange for painted on latex, they were in for a big surprise. A series of retractable steps led up to wide double doors with baroque detailing.

Inside, her eyes were drawn everywhere at once, trying to take in the enormity of the sculptures and the internal structure of the ship. It was a transportable city, like the galactic equivalent of a mobile home, only a thousand times bigger. None of the sculptures were her style. Each one was an image of pain and self-inflicted agony frozen forever in several tons of stone and metal. The floor was equally, although more pleasantly, decorated in mosaic tiles of slate and gold. Wide corridors stretched off to the side like empty tubes extending forever in space. She shivered a little and wondered how they lived in a place as cold and unyielding as this.

The big, angry guy pushed her toward a grotesquely ornate dais with an equally ugly throne sitting front and center. "We found this woman."

She opened her mouth to let this Lord Marshal guy know exactly what was on her mind but the words turned into a single, almost unintelligible vowel sound.

The man on the throne was only wearing partial armor, no metal covering up his muscular arms or shaved head. He had skin the color of caramel mocha and eyes like the silver lining on a storm cloud. She blinked several times and awkwardly tried to straighten her torn jacket. He continued to watch until she finally dragged her voice out of its hiding place.

"Hi. I'm Buffy. And I have no idea how I got here, I'm not really sure where here is exactly. But this is since this is so not California; I obviously took a wrong turn. There was this whole end of the world thing, you know how those can be confusing." She laughed at her own embarrassing rambling.

"Hold your tongue," Angry Guy snarled.

"Hey!" She rubbed her shoulder where he had prodded her and gave him a scowl of her own. "Do you mind? It's bad enough I'm stuck in the only hell dimension without a decent shower."

"This is no hell. This is the Underverse and you have no place here."

"Right. Whatever. No Starbucks and no mall? Trust me, this is hell." She tried to turn back to the hot guy sitting on the throne but stopped short when the Angry Guy swung his spear around to point it directly at her throat. "You might want to get that out of my face."

"Kneel before the Lord Marshal," he ordered.

Buffy sighed tiredly and rolled her eyes. "I crawled out of my grave for this? All I want is a hot shower and new clothes."

The tip of the spear poked into her neck. "I said kneel."

"Have it your way." She caught the end of the spear, twisting and yanking it out of his hands. In the blink of an eye, she had the pointy end aimed at the gap in his armor just below his helmet. When he reached for the gun holstered at his hip, she shook her head and jabbed his armor with the spear. "Unless you want to be breathing through a hole in your neck, keep your hands where I can see them."

The man on the throne finally spoke. "Vaako. Stand down." He stood up, walking slowly and deliberately toward her. Taller and larger than she'd guessed when he was sitting, there was something magnetic, if a little intimidating, about the way he moved.

"She is not one of us, Lord," Vaako snarled. Strangely enough, he looked at the Lord Marshal with more distaste and hatred than he had leveled at her.

"Leave her." The Lord Marshal reached out and took the spear from Buffy's hands. He nodded toward the main entrance to the ship. "You have a job to do, Vaako. Are you waiting for a direct order?"

"No, sir," Vaako ground out through clenched teeth. He was nearly vibrating with fury as he turned on his heel and stalked off with the rest of the men in tow.

"He doesn't like you much, does he?" Buffy observed.

"It's mutual." He was still holding the spear, turning it over in his hands with unexpected thoughtfulness, as though he was trying to figure out how it worked.

"The sharp end is the dangerous one," she quipped before realizing it might be a very bad idea to piss off the guy in charge. "Not that you didn't know that. Of course you knew that. So…what do I call you? Lord Marshal? Is your name Marshal or is that just a title?"

He stared at her long enough that she began to wonder if he spoke English as a second or third language, but just as she was about to try again, he answered. "Riddick. Richard B. Riddick. The Lord part is their idea, not mine."

"So it's like King or President. Good for you, moving up in the world." When he continued to look at her as though she had sprouted purple antennae from her head, she gave up. It was just her luck to land in a hell dimension where the only hot guy was dull as a table lamp. "Look. I really just want to shower and change. And if you've got anything that isn't Saran Wrap meets Night of the Living Dead, that would be fabulous."

There must have been some understanding of what she'd said because he motioned for her to follow him and headed off to the left side of the chamber. Standing beside one of the enormous pillars was a woman dressed in a shimmering white gown and translucent veil that billowed with even the slightest wind.

"Take care of her," Riddick told the woman gruffly.

Buffy watched him walk away with more than a little annoyance at being dumped off on the nearest bystander. At least this woman was dressed in more comfortable clothing, which was a cause for optimism. She managed her brightest smile regardless of the less than cushy situation. "Is he always so chatty?"

"Consider yourself fortunate. You may call me Aereon." She glided away from the pillar, parts of her becoming transparent as she moved down the hallway.

"Not to be rude…but what are you? And what's up with this place, haven't they heard of color?"

"I'm an envoy from the Elemental race and this is the home of the Necromonger army. The man you met, Riddick, defeated the previous Lord Marshal."

"That explains the weirdness." A set of carvings had caught her attention and she had to hurry to catch up. "So they came here on purpose?"

"This is their heaven, if a rather unusual vision of such a place. An alternate universe of sorts they believe to be their destiny." Aereon led her through a smaller set of double doors into a vast suite. "You may wash through there and I will find you replacement clothing. I'm afraid the Necromongers care little for luxury so there is precious little of it here in the Necropolis."

Buffy wandered into the room, eyes wide as she tried to take it all in. It was done in the same omnipresent shades of gray, silver, and gold with copious amounts of black for good measure. The flat surfaces were cold stone and even the fabrics looked hard to the touch. When she tested the bed covering, she was relieved that it was actually smooth and silky against her fingers. More of the ugly statues had been positioned about the room but, oddly enough, had been placed with their contorted faces turned toward the wall.

Another door led into an equally unwelcoming bathing area. What passed as a shower took up nearly half of the room and the six inches of raised stone serving as a border provided no privacy at all. Praying that no one would come in, she hurried out of her clothes and stepped over the low wall. It took her several minutes and a few blasts of icy water to figure out how to operate the strange controls jutting out of the walls. The temperature of the water remained on the cool side but once it was warm enough that her teeth weren't chattering, she began scrubbing vigorously at the coating of dust on her skin and hair.

Blood and dirt sloughed off, swirling past her feet to disappear through the grate in the floor. There wasn't anything that looked like soap so she did the best she could without it. Her hair was going to be a nightmare without conditioner.

"Stupid hell dimensions," she complained loudly. The echo of her voice muted by the sound of falling water.

Satisfied that she was relatively clean, she managed to turn the water off and find a rectangular block of fabric that would do for a towel. It felt more like wrapping a leather glove around her body, but sucked away the moisture as well as terrycloth. One hurdle had been leapt with marginal success, the next being finding clothing that was actually wearable.  
She was no longer alone when she emerged from the bathroom. A dark-skinned woman painted into a form fitting gold dress was perched at the end of the grand bed, smiling like a boa constrictor.

"So, you're the creature the Lord Marshal chose to keep?" the woman purred. "I must say, I am…disappointed in his taste."

"As long as you're not referring to whether or not he likes me with ketchup, I don't really care about his taste. You haven't seen any spare clothes lying about, have you? The towel look is so white trash."

An icy smile firmly in place, the woman held out a pile of dark fabric. "Of course. It's hardly befitting a slave, let alone a consort. But our Lord insisted that you wear it."

Buffy took the clothing with a superficial smile, trying not to show her relief that the fabric was warm and supple as cotton. She ducked behind one of the gigantic statues to strip off the towel and try on the new clothes. The outfit turned out to be a tunic style sleeveless dress with a long flowing skirt and a floor-length jacket woven out of fuzzy threads. It was even softer against her skin and gave her enough freedom to run or even fight if she had to. There was a strip of the same cloth to tie her hair back.

"How…lovely," the woman told her with barely concealed venom when she stepped out from behind the statue.

"A gal can't be choosy when she's in hell. Now that I'm clothed, who are you?"

"I am Dame Vaako."

"Ah." Buffy nodded with understanding. "Is your husband the guy who got his ass kicked? The last Lord Marshal. He doesn't seem to like the new one very much."

Dame Vaako stiffened, her eyes narrowing. "Our previous Lord Marshal is dead. In this religion, you keep what you kill."

"Then this Riddick guy killed the last guy and now he's in charge of everything? Can I say, whoa, hottie. I'm sure you've noticed." Buffy sighed with exaggerated dreaminess before returning her attention to Dame Vaako. "You don't seem too happy about it. Were you expecting the hubby to get a promotion?"

"You'd be wise to watch your tongue," she hissed.

"Look, I just want to go home, where they have hair care products and the Home and Garden Channel. So go be Lady MacBeth in someone else's room."

The gold clad viper in human form swept haughtily out of the suite, leaving Buffy to wonder who her next uninvited guest would be and exactly what kind of political nightmare she'd wandered into. Post-coup was really never a good time to enter a religious dynasty. There was nothing she could about that at the moment so she focused on what she could do, and that was attempting to get the stains out of her own clothing.

Returning to the alien bathroom, she stared at the remaining fixtures for several minutes before deciding one of them was a sink. It sort of looked like a sink. Finding similar controls for the water, she dumped her clothing into the wide, shallow basin and fiddled with the dials. Water bubbled over the entire length of the basin and from several holes along the side, creating a slow current in the pool. Again, there was no sign of soap so she settled for old-fashioned scrubbing and rinsing. It took an eternity for the black stains to begin to fade and she finally despaired at getting the blood out at all.

She held up her ruined jacket with a mournful sigh. "It was on sale too. Stupid apocalypse."

Both her jacket and her jeans were in sore need of a sewing needle and unless these Necromongers had stocked up on super glue, she wasn't going to be able to repair the broken heel of her boot. And she was pretty sure there wasn't a decent place to shop in this entire universe. It was a pity that she never got sucked into the dimension where the natives worshipped Christian Dior as a God and built temples to Prada.

With aching arms and skin turned wrinkly by exposure to water, she finally abandoned her battle against the evil stains and returned to the main chamber of the suite. The bed wasn't direct from the Hilton but it felt good to stretch out on her back and relax.

Relaxation hadn't made plans to stay, however; the rumbling in her stomach and the racing in her head chased it away. Food was probably the least of her troubles, since even bizarro armies needed to eat. The more insurmountable obstacle was how to get back from whence she'd come when she had no clue how she ended up here in the first place. She remembered the cavern and Spike being on fire and then the ground split right out from under her feet. The only problem was that she'd climbed out of the Hellmouth into an entirely different world.

She frowned at that thought, realizing that everyone would believe she simply hadn't made it out of the building before it imploded. They might come back to look for her body, but would think that she was buried under the rubble of one former high school. Maybe they'd plant flowers. Regardless of how they chose to mourn her, she doubted they'd think to look in an alternate dimension. On the plus side, she hadn't seen any vampires.

The whoosh of the doors swinging open and subsequent thud of boot steps didn't improve her mood. Bracing for whatever unpleasantness was coming next, she rolled up into a sitting position and glared at the intruders.

Riddick motioned to the guard who had followed him to put down the tray of food he was carrying. The guard obeyed, setting the tray on the corner of the bed and leaving the room quickly. Behind him, Riddick secured the door so that it couldn't be opened from the outside without a great deal of trouble or firepower.

Eyeing the food with skepticism, Buffy moved down to the end of the bed and sniffed at it. "Is it edible? Cause you people have no concept of basic amenities. Did you know that you have no soap? How can you have no soap?"

He surprised her by laughing. It was a rough and edgy laugh that made her think of bad horror movies with psychos bearing chain saws. Since he was noticeably lacking in the chain saw department, she decided that he probably wasn't planning on killing her and turned back to the food. The only utensil provided was a slender knife topped with an elegantly carved ivory handle.

"They look like vegetables." She peered at the round, turnip-like thing at the end of the knife blade. It had a pleasantly spicy aroma and when she nibbled at it, the taste was a cross between a potato and an onion. Her stomach growled in anticipation of food, regardless of what it was or where it came from. "I don't wanna know what this is, do I?"

She swallowed hard when she saw that Riddick was stripping off his armor. Beneath the layer of hammered steel was a black tank top and dusty gray cargo style pants that had definitely seen better days. He didn't seem to be bothered by her watching him and nearly made her choke on her food when he pulled the tank top up and over his head. More caramel skin, more muscles, and abs to die for. She was a little disappointed when he disappeared into the bathroom.

"Bad Buffy," she chided herself quietly.

Wishing that Willow was there to gossip with was the equivalent of throwing a wet blanket over her fantasies. She turned back to her food listlessly. It was hardly fair that she'd saved the world and ended up in hell anyway. Karma was a bitch after all.

Focusing on chewing her way through the plate of strange vegetables kept her from curling into a ball and crying like a baby. Maybe later when there was no one around and she didn't have to worry about looking like an idiot in front of any hot men. There were always more pressing matters, like whether or not the Necromongers intended to keep her alive. And whether or not she was actually being kept as a consort, which she was pretty sure was just a fancy word for whore. If that's what he intended then she'd have to dissuade him of that notion. That part didn't worry her. Breaking a wrist or two was always easier than finding the Stargate and dialing home.

She finished off the vegetables but refrained from licking the plate clean. A few days of this food and she'd kill for a Big Mac. A new possibility occurred to her. What if she hadn't been the only one to get swallowed up? Could the others have found their way out of the ground as well? That made her slightly more hopeful about her very gray, drab, and entirely fashion-less future. There could even be a chance of getting home if Giles could figure out where they were and Willow could work the mojo.

Her mind had been so focused on the what ifs that she hadn't heard the water stop running or the soft footsteps as Riddick returned. The sound of scraping against stone startled her enough that she rolled onto her side and hurled the knife as hard as she could. Riddick twisted out of the way, the blade missing his head by inches and embedding into the wall behind him.

"Not bad," he said noncommittally as he dislodged it from the wall with a sharp twist, remarkably calm considering that she'd just thrown a knife at his head.

She caught the knife by the handle when he tossed it back to her. "Not bad? That was better than not bad."

"How did you get here?" He settled into a chair beside one of the enormous statues with the grace of a large cat stretching out in the sunshine. A simple tunic and leggings combo in slate gray and large enough to drape over his large frame had replaced his well-worn black clothes. His feet were bare despite the cold floor. A pair of black goggles dangled loosely from his hand, swinging back and forth ever so slightly.

"Fell into a hole and when I climbed out…voila. Here I am with the crazy people living on a dead planet." She curled her knees up against her chest, very aware that she was far away from home and unlikely to see any of her friends or family again. Better lay down the ground rules before she got in over her head. "So what is this? You feed me and give me clothes…what exactly do you expect in return?"

"I'll let you know."

Fair enough, she thought. He barely seemed to understand the words coming out her mouth so he may not have decided if she was useful or not. "Is there anything else in this world? Other than you and your army."

He nodded slowly. "There are more of them. Each Lord Marshal who's ever led a crusade has his own army."

"Let me guess, they're all fighting each other. Fabulous." She rubbed her arms against the sudden chill in the air. "I don't suppose you've even heard of planet Earth?"

"Earth?" he repeated. "It's a dead planet now. Has been for nearly a hundred years."


	2. Nothing Here That Doesn't Suck

**Nothing Here That Doesn't Suck**

Night in the Underverse lasted for nine days, if one bothered to count by Helion Standard days. Once the countdown to dusk began, Riddick found that his skin would crawl and his sleep was increasingly invaded by the echoing shrieks of the creatures from T2. Suspicion gnawed at his unconscious until he began to doubt the dying orange sun would ever rise again. Restless and haunted, he preferred not to hunker down inside the Basilica and wait for daylight, and instead, he ventured out into the black to hunt.

That he had proven to be useful in the Underverse was a crime Vaako would never forgive. He had no doubt that Vaako had meant to kill him upon crossing the Threshold, and probably still intended to, but night vision was invaluable in a world with long periods of darkness. Approaching armies and treacherous landscape were only two parts of the equation. He had directed the Commanders through maze-like canyons and provided information about the movements of the enemy armies. It was ironic that the Necromonger equivalent of heaven consisted of endless battles in which they ceaselessly sought to destroy each other. 

Another advantage of his scouting missions, and the true reason behind them, was the chance that somewhere in the burnt out terrain, he might find Kyra. It was slim at best but kept his mind focused on a goal.

"Ow!"

He paused to glance back at the petite blonde who had insisted on following him. It took a concerted effort not to order her back to the ship. She'd probably just ignore him anyway. Of all of the infuriating people he'd encountered, she tried his patience more than all of them combined.

"Are you sure this is the right way? I can't see anything and even I can tell this way sucks."

Waiting for her to get close enough that he could keep his voice low, he tugged none too gently on the tether stretched out between them to get her moving in the right direction.

"You're asking for it," she muttered. Her fingers slid down the tether until connecting with his hand and then she pulled away. "Are the moons going to come back up any time soon? This is ridiculous."

"Could've stayed on the ship."

"And watch Dame Vaako prance around? I'd love to put her and Cordelia in the same room and see who won BitchFest oh-three," she huffed as she sat down on a rock large enough to serve as a seat.

The sliver of admiration in the midst of his annoyance was what kept him from wringing her neck. When he'd told her that the Earth was long gone, she'd cried silently for several hours before falling asleep curled up on his bed. Once she woke, she had demanded that she be given something to do and she'd been game for anything he'd thrown at her, even if it meant trekking across a foreign land in the pitch black. She talked enough to fray all of his nerves but she never lagged behind.

He forced his mind back to the idle conversation, scanning the horizon as he spoke. "Who's Cordelia?" He'd tried ignoring her at first but that only made her more determined to annoy him.

"A girl I went to school with. She didn't really understand the whole concept of tact or subtlety. Xander dated her but that kinda fell apart after she caught him with Willow. You remember who Xander is, right?"

It took several deep breaths to loosen his grip on the rock he had picked up with the intention of throwing at her. "No."

"Carpenter? Saved the world when Willow went all veiny?"

Right. Something about a witch and the end of the world. He was convinced the woman was completely insane. If it weren't for the fact that keeping her around made the vein in Vaako's neck stand out, he wouldn't bother. The other redeeming feature was that she seemed to have inherent skill with weapons. Turning Vaako's own spear against him, the knife throw that had very nearly found its mark. Whether or not she actually understood what she had done, it was impressive. Now if she would just stop talking.

"Are we going to sit here all night?"

Stone ground together as the rock in his hand fractured and split, the unlucky victim of his displaced annoyance. He eased out of his crouch and started toward the hills he could see in the distance. The ground was still relatively flat and easily navigated in darkness. For most of the night, he'd been tracking a band of Necros with a particularly devious Commander.

The hills rose with a gentle incline, sweeping up to a curved bluff that acted as a pivot point for the howling winds. He slowed his pace, more cautious now that he had to choose his steps more carefully to avoid making unnecessary noise. Not realizing he had slowed, Buffy collided with his back.

"One of these days I'm going to put a bell around your neck, Riddick," she whispered sourly.

"Pay attention."

"You're the one who can see. I'm trusting you not to walk me off a cliff."

"Don't tempt me." He ignored her scowl, clearly visible with his shine job, and tugged on the tether to bring her around to his side. She wasn't afraid of him, which was intriguing.

Over the edge of the bluff was a sloping canyon that narrowed to a slot on their left but swung wide on the right, following one of the many small creeks as it gurgled across the plain. Less than a half mile away, where the creek merged into a larger river, he could see the dancing light of a campfire. The raiding party had been pushing hard to cover ground, making it difficult to track them. Lucky for Riddick, they couldn't continue to the left so their path would have to deviate down across the plain or follow the meandering path of the river.

That he'd managed to stay on the fringes of the war was due solely to the battle of wills that he fought with Vaako every waking moment. If the Commanders had their way, they'd land dead and center in one of the enormous battlefields to the south of their camp. Riddick had only ventured there a limited number of times, preferring to stick to the open spaces where he didn't have to travel through endless fields of bodies. He wasn't looking for a weakness that he could hand to Vaako to exploit in battle; he just wanted one glimpse of the face that kept haunting his dreams.

"Is that them?" Buffy asked quietly.

"Yes." At this distance, he couldn't see much more detail than she could. Movement, figures with two distinct legs, and the gleam of metal weapons in firelight. "We need to get closer."

"I hate it when you say that."

"Here." Gathering up the slack in the tether, he pressed it into her hands and took hold of her wrists. "I'll lower you down." She shifted around in front of him, her concentration focused on the ravine wall as he eased her over the edge. Once she had her feet planted against solidly against the rock, he used the tether to lower her the rest of the distance. It was close and the rope was taut when she reached the bottom.

Climbing down after her was trickier, searching out hand and footholds in the darkness. There were times when he had to feel his way down rather than using his eyes. He felt her hand brush against his calf to let him know he was close to the bottom and pushed off to jump the rest of the way. Boots crunched against gravel and shale; the gurgling of the creek was louder and water splashed when he took a step forward. He was surprised that she wasn't complaining about the water; the natural rivers in the Underverse were always cold as ice and she complained about everything else.

They followed the trickle of water through the narrow gorge until it opened up into meadows of dense grass. The constantly howling wind provided more than enough sound to mask their footsteps but he still kept low to the ground in case the Necros had scouts of their own.

He tugged the tether to get her attention. For once, she didn't start yammering about him trying to boss her around and held still while he untied the harness around her waist. When he was close to her, his knuckles brushing against the soft fabric of her tunic, he remembered how small she was. Slender and delicate like a bird with golden feathers and a very annoying squawk.

"How am I supp--"

"Try to keep up," he interrupted before she could get any momentum.

"I can't see in the dark! You are the most infuriating, overbearing…man." The stream of insults turned into muffled cursing and splashing water.

With growing frustration, he turned around and pulled her out of the small creek. "Can't have you tied to me once we get close, you'll just get in the way."

"I'll get in the way? I'll have you know--"

"Do you ever shut up?" he hissed.

"Believe me, the only reason I'm sticking around is to annoy you. God, is it always about you?"

Several deep breaths were all that kept him from breaking that slender neck and the rest of her just for good measure. He kept moving, this time trying to put as much distance between them as possible in case she stumbled over anything else and alerted the raiding party to their presence. The flickering of the bonfire cast flickering and increasingly golden light over the harsh ground. There were only a handful of men, lightly armored to enable faster speeds on foot.

He circled around the edge of the shadows, shiv in hand and scanning for anyone who wasn't paying attention to the surroundings. Once it started, it would become chaos in a matter of seconds. The more blood he could spill before they realized there was a fox in the henhouse, the less likely it was that the blonde irritant would end up with a knife in her throat. Muscles coiled and ready, he crouched down in one of the darker patches of shadow and steadied his breathing in preparation.

"So what's for dinner?" Buffy stepped into the light with a bright, vapid smile. "I really hope it's not rat. I am so sick of rat, aren't you? And really, the rats on this planet are totally greasy and gross. I would kill for a Big Mac. If you guys actually had Big Macs, that is. You haven't been holding out on me, have you?"

Riddick was more than tempted to stay where he was and let the Necros tear her to ribbons if it would shut her up or knock some sense into her head. She ducked the first warrior's attack with ease, stepping to the side and shoving the end of his own spear into the side of his head. Without making a sound, he caught the nearest Necro by surprise and slit his throat before he could alert the others. At the edge of his vision, he saw Buffy take a blow to the face and stumble back. He twisted away from his opponent, crunching bone and armor as he yanked the Necro's arm against the joint.

"Do you know how hard it is to find comfortable clothes in this hell?" Buffy shouted furiously at her attacker, stripping the torn fabric away from her skin and tossing it away. Her foot connected squarely with the center of the man's chest and he flew backwards, crashing into the bonfire.

The rest were quick work, unprepared for the attack, and littered the ground as cooling, human shaped boulders. He dragged the smoldering corpse out of the bonfire before it smothered the remaining flames and prodded the logs until they were burning brightly once again. Buffy was eying her handiwork with satisfaction, nudging a few of the bodies as if looking for another chance to fight them. Just exactly she'd managed to toss a fully-grown man as if he was a mere rag doll was one more question he needed answered.

"He tore my sweater." She sat down beside him, frowning and shaking her head at the ripped cloth. Her bare arms and shoulders were pale gold in the firelight, small fingers working at the tear.

"More of those back at the ship," he answered noncommittally.

"But this one was already broken in. The stains were familiar, I'd even named them." She smiled, wide-eyed, up at him. "Kidding."

He turned a long blade of the black grass between his fingers, watching it burn and smolder in the flames. "What are you?"

"I'm annoyed that guy ruined my sweater. Are we going to be killing any more of those? Cause that was hardly enough to justify ruining a perfectly good piece of clothing. Where I come from there are these things called malls, and they have racks and racks of real clothes. Nothing like this--"

"What are you?" he cut her off with a growl.

"Oh. You mean that. It's a long story." Her laugh was far too light and strained.

"Don't make me ask again."

"It's nothing, really. One girl in every generation chosen to slay vampires and demons, yada, yada, big evil, yada, yada. Very boring. There are musty, old books involved and stuffy British guys who wear tweed. You wouldn't be interested." 

The blade of grass turned to a wisp of ash slipping through his fingers and fluttering away in the current of the heat coming off the fire. Vampires, demons. He'd heard strange and wild stories from one prison to the next, most finding their source in idle cell chatter to pass the time. Everything else that came out of her mouth was alien; he wasn't sure why he'd expected this to made sense. For the moment, it was just as likely as any of the other outlandish possibilities so he left it at that.

When he didn't answer, she dropped the sweater into her lap and stared at him. "What about you? You're no slouch in the hand-to-hand events yourself. A little rough on the technique but we can work on that. What's your story?"

"Escaped convict, murderer," he said with a smirk.

His past had never come up before. In all her words and stories of where she'd come from, this was the first that she had questioned his history. Now that she had, he was surprised to realize that her disinterest in his past had been a relief. No questions to answer or judgments passed that he didn't care about but noticed nonetheless. Convicts were subhuman, barely on the same level as pack animals and lab rats. There were people in the universe who cared about what happened to the rats, but no one cared about the convicts.

"That's…exciting," Buffy said with forced cheerfulness. "So you got out of jail and got upgraded to Lord Marshal?"

"Cut my way out of Butcher Bay a long time ago. Kept the mercs off my neck, staying on a goddamn ice planet, until these guys showed up." There was no reason to mention planets with screeching monsters or the little girls who came with them; sitting around the campfire dredging up old memories wasn't how he wanted to spend his night.

Buffy continued to ask questions, holding her hands out to the fire to warm them. "But you've got family somewhere, right? Everyone's got family."

"Necros killed them all." Another vague answer that only contained part of the truth. He bristled at the vague feeling crawling under his skin that squirmed suspiciously like guilt; the hope that he'd find Kyra, and the only family he knew, in this hell was beginning to fade. There was no reason to tell her anything at all about his past or his life, even less reason to talk about a heritage he didn't understand and a fate he hadn't asked for. None of this had been his idea and he didn't want to be the savior of any universe; and he really didn't want to talk about his feelings.

She seemed to understand for once and ceased bombarding him with senseless questions. The crackling of the fire laid over the howling wind filled the silence comfortingly without being dominating, allowing him to keep thinking about his next move. One raiding party down, the choices were either keep searching or return to the Basilica. Too long away and Vaako would slip his leash, but staying with the Necromongers would never find the haystack needle he was looking for.

"Think this is any good?" She held up one of the skewers, wrinkling her nose at the roasted animal flesh left uneaten due to the sudden death of its owner.

"Probably not." The creatures living on the wickedly sharp grass were barely worth eating, tough and grainy in texture. Beneath the surface were larger, burrowing rodents with sightless eyes that made a decent enough meal for a group of men. That this raiding party had been reduced to eating the lesser prey meant they were either in a hurry or incompetent.

Her delicate nibbling at the carcass reminded him that staying out longer would require finding more food to augment their few remaining protein bars. Unlike some of the other groups, this raiding party had traveled light for speed, catching food to eat on the way. He moved away from the fire to look over the weaponry left behind. The spears were long, barbed at the end, and would be useful for catching one of the burrowers. If Buffy could toss a grown man through the air a good fifteen feet then she might actually be useful in procuring better food.

She noticed what he was doing but didn't stop eating. "I hope you aren't going to ask me to carry those back. Are we headed back now?"

No decision had been made yet so he ignored her and continued to rifle through the scant belongings of the dead men. Very little was useful, which made him apprehensive. Traveling light was one thing, traveling with only the bare essentials was entirely different. This lightness of load belied a desperate need to move quickly, to meet a deadline or to escape a pursing enemy. A simple raiding party would have been more heavily equipped in preparation for long excursions without support.

"Throw a girl a bone, Mister tall, dark and completely non-communicative." She tossed the skewer, tiny rabbit bones still clinging to the rod, onto the ground beside the fire and licked her fingers.

The trust in her eyes was strange and unexpected. She continued to follow him out into this harsh world, letting him guide her over terrain she couldn't see for herself, and now faced the question of their next move completely unruffled. Perhaps she simply didn't care what path they chose, all of them were equally far from the sunny California world she had come from.

Instead of answering her query, he tossed her one of the dead man's water flasks and a spear. The flask was larger than the one she had and he no longer believed she couldn't carry the additional weight. "Let's move."

She rolled her eyes but took the spear and slung the flask over her shoulders without any snide comments. Before he could say anything, she was reaching for the tether and looping it around the harness belt she wore. Once it was securely attached, she looked up at him expectantly, waiting for the signal to move. He couldn't put his finger on exactly why her imperturbable acceptance made him question the wisdom of turning his back on her. Anyone who had nothing to fear and nothing to lose was a liability.

They followed the winding river as it cut into the plain, grass and brush scraping against their legs and crunching beneath their boots. The wind was warm against his skin, smelling of sulfur and the earth it came from, belched out in bursts of lava heated steam. He always steered clear of the volcanic areas, avoiding their deep chasms and ever-changing terrain because they were dangerous and reminded him of Crematoria.

"Where are we going?" Buffy asked; her voice reminding him that she was there. When he didn't answer her, she tugged on the tether to get his attention. "I get that you're into the whole laconic thing but, at this point, you'd give Oz a run for his money. Since my iPod got swallowed up in a Hellmouth and this silence is really bugging, we have to talk about something."

"Not the way I see it."

"Come on. Don't they talk in prison? I saw the Shawshank Redemption and they were totally talking."

As usual, he had no idea what she was rambling about, but he'd go back to slam before letting her know that occasionally her babbling was more appealing than the silence of hell. Then there was the fact that he wasn't sure of their destination himself. Between not wanting to return to the Basilica and the nagging questions raised by the dead raiding party, he had set off to follow their tracks without much thought of where they would lead.

"Did they send you to prison for being infuriating?" she snapped at him.

"They were moving too fast for a raiding party. Something had them running," he answered carefully, torn between wanting her to shut up and not wanting to return to complete silence.

"Oh. Don't suppose you have any ideas about what that might have been? I mean, just because I haven't seen any big uglies doesn't mean there aren't any."

"Could just be another Necro group." He hadn't seen any native animals worth running from but, as she so oddly said, that didn't mean this world didn't hold more secrets. It certainly wouldn't be the first planet that only looked innocent in a certain light.

The river curved back toward an outcropping rocky cliffs; he stayed with it. Loose soil along the bank was easier walking and muffled their footsteps. Once along the cliff base, they would have cover within feet if they came across the unexpected and needed a place to hide. The final advantage was that he expected to find the telltale mounds of rodent burrows before they reached the rock face. Dawn would spread over them once the moons finished their last arc and they were less than a day's hike from the Basilica, so there was no hurry to return. Vaako certainly wouldn't miss either of them.

He was so focused on the ground ahead of them, scanning the rustling underbrush for signs of edible life, that he didn't notice Buffy falling behind until the tether jerked taut. She was still as a statue, staring into the night with intense concentration.

"What are you doing?"

"Shhh. There's something out there."

Frowning, he turned in the direction she was facing and searched the horizon for motion. There were trees and more grass; nothing but the sound of the river tumbling over rocks and the whispering wind. Despite seeing nothing, the look on her face kept him searching every inch of the landscape.

"You sure?" he asked softly.

"I hope not." Her brow was furrowed, head cocked to the side as she listened to the wind. "We need to find somewhere to hide…maybe they won't notice us."

"What, exactly, won't notice us?"

"Just get us somewhere safe and I'll tell you what I think it is."

Safe was a matter of opinion but he took her seriously and turned back toward the cliffs ahead. Her hand hooked loosely around her arm, trusting him completely not to walk her blindly into the river. He picked up the pace, focused on the jagged edge of the outcropping and dark shadow that could be a cave. It would put solid rock at their backs and give them a good view of the plains.

The ground turned rocky and littered with broken bits of shale that slid under their weight. Her grip tightening on his arm was the only indication that she couldn't see where to put her feet. Above them, he caught sight of a narrow ledge skimming along the entrance to a hollowed out section of cliff. He couldn't see the back of the cave and that meant there would be room for two bodies at least. Pausing long enough to pick out a route up the nearly vertical rock, he stopped her from continuing forward.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Have to go up and there's only room for one." He took her wrists and guided her hands to his back. "Try not to strangle me."

"I'll do my best," she said wryly as she climbed onto his back, holding their spears awkwardly between them.

She was lighter than he'd expected; her arms carefully slung around his shoulders and away from his neck. When there was enough clearance between her knees and the rock, she kept her legs wrapped around his waist. Her skin was soft against the back of his neck and her hair tickled his scalp. By the time he put his feet on the narrow ledge, he was more than a little rattled by the heat of her body. Shuffling to the side, he eased into the cave and turned to let her slide off onto relatively flat ground.

"It'll look like a man. Upright, two legs, two arms," Buffy began as soon as her feet hit the ground. "But it'll be faster and move differently. And they're damn hard to kill."

"What are they?" He settled into a crouch at the edge of the cave, watching the plain stretching out in front of them.

"Giles called them Turok-Han, the vampires that vampires fear. The usual things kill them, it just takes more effort. And I don't think we'll be getting much help from the sun in this place. Stake to the heart, decapitation."

"I don't see anything."

"Trust me, they're out there. I'm the Slayer, I can feel them." She sounded unusually weary and defeated. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that she was curled into a ball against the back wall of the cave. "Maybe I brought them with me, maybe this is where they came from. Wouldn't that be karma? The First is probably laughing his ass off about now."

He didn't answer and didn't figure she was actually looking for a response. If she was right and there were creatures lurking out there that were bad enough for her to fear them, then he'd keep his eyes open until she said otherwise. The petite blonde hadn't batted an eyelash at an entire Necromonger army and she certainly wasn't afraid of him, which meant these Turok-Han were creatures to be reckoned with. They could afford to spend a few hours tucked away in the shadows.

"Tell me more. I want to know what I'm dealing with."

She sighed heavily. "Basic vampire stuff. They drink blood and like to kill things. Better vision, sense of smell. The smell thing is a little creepy, especially when vampire ex-boyfriends are involved. Fast, strong. These things have skin like stretched titanium and enormous rib cages, makes it hard to stake them. I'm going to suggest the decapitation option."

"Could you be wrong?"

"If we're lucky." She rubbed her arms and curled up tighter against the rock. "Too bad those guys weren't running from dragons or King Kong. That would be easier, believe me. Just one of those things kicked my ass more times than I care to admit. And I've faced giant snakes, Hell Gods, and more demons than you can even name."

"Still trying to wrap my brain around the part where you've seen demons." 

"No one wants to know what lives in the dark. Except you, I guess. You did do the eye thing to yourself, didn't you?"

He hadn't told her the history of his eye shine but he wasn't surprised that she'd managed a shrewd guess. Blonde and annoying she may be, but he was getting the sneaking suspicion that she might know what she was talking about when it came to the strange and unusual. If she was right then their only hope was staying downwind of the creatures and laying low until they passed by. Unless she was crazy. He hadn't ruled that out either.

The wind changed direction, shifting to blow fine grains of soil and the smell of sulfur directly into the cave. Eddy currents whirled around his ankles, tugging at the fabric and brushing cold, invisible fingers against bare skin. He kept still and alert on the off chance that she wasn't insane.

Buffy broke the silence, her voice despondent and tight, as though the words were brittle enough to snap in the wind. "I thought it was finally over. Sure, there's no mall and no Starbucks. But no vampires either. The only thing that didn't completely suck in this whole world was that I didn't have to be the Slayer. And now? Now there's nothing here that doesn't suck."

"Keep it down," Riddick told her irritably. "Not interested in getting eaten because of you and your self-pity."

"Self pity? My entire planet is dead."

"So's mine."

"Yeah, but you don't care," she huffed, turning her face away from him. "I lost my friends and my family. All you've got to lose is an army of fashion rejects who hate you anyway. What are you even doing here? Why not take a ship and leave?"

"Looking for someone," he answered without thinking.

"Someone?" Unable to see him, she frowned in the direction of his voice. "Who someone?"

That was trickier to answer. Kyra was one of very few marks on the side of humanity that he had, a single drop of blood in the entire bucket that didn't screech for revenge. He'd failed her, no doubt about it; he just wasn't sure if he'd failed her that day in the Basilica or if the failure had happened years earlier on Helion Prime. Simply coming into contact with him had set her on a path of brutality and eventual death. At first, it hadn't felt like too much to hope for to find her here in the Underverse, but staring out into the harsh night, he didn't know if hope could survive in the face of so much darkness.

"Riddick?" Buffy's gentle prodding reminded him that she was there, her hand on his shoulder and a concerned expression on her face.

"Family." It was the simplest answer that still carried the ring of truth. Kyra,  
Imam, and the rest of the survivors of the crash on T2 had been the closest to family he'd ever known. Dysfunctional, destructive, and fucked up, but family nonetheless.

"That's why you don't stay on the ship. That's what you're really looking for out here, isn't it?"

"Necros made her one of them. She should be here. Somewhere." The wind snatched his words away and made him sound lonelier than he'd let himself feel in more years than he could remember. With the backdrop of darkness that smelled of sulfur and desolation, it was unsettling to hear the dying hope in his own voice. Even more disconcerting was knowing that she could hear it as well.

"You know, it's been a while; I could be rusty. Maybe I was wrong, maybe there isn't anything out there."

He didn't waste time telling her to be quiet. The moment he saw something move that wasn't a tree branch he clapped his hand over her mouth to shut her up. Her hair brushed against his face as he leaned in to whisper against her ear. "Try to keep that pretty mouth shut, Slayer."

There was more than one of the creatures, moving silently through the brush with an unnatural loping stride and twisting hunch through the shoulders. Deceptively slender in build, even from hundreds of feet away he could tell that they were built for slaughter. Heads bobbed and swayed like more animated version of the lensors, sniffing the air for a hint of their quarry. The scent of blood from the bodies lying to the north pulled them up river and away from the cave.

He waited, hand over her mouth, until he could no longer see them moving through the grass. Once they were out of sight, he became aware of Buffy pressed against his side, warm and smelling of musk and women's skin. He slid his hand away from her mouth slowly, keeping his thumb against her lips to signal her to remain quiet.

"You called me Slayer," she whispered.

"Said that's what you were."

"You believed me? No one ever believes me. At least, not the first five hundred times I tell them."

Her skin was silk against the rough skin of his palm, one small hand pressing flat against his back and the other gripping his forearm tightly. The wide-eyed gaze made her blindness that much more apparent. Completely lost in the darkness, unnatural strength or not, she was holding onto him without hesitation. The irrationality of it kept him frozen in place; he couldn't understand or accept her blind faith that he wouldn't snap her neck. There had been moments when it had been a tempting alternative to listening to her inane chatter.

"Say something." Buffy's gaze lowered, the tips of her lashes glinting white and purple with his eye shine. "Because if you don't…I think I might kiss you. Which is a world of bad because I don't even like you." Contrary to her words, she was leaning into his hand, eyes half closed, and lips moist and parted as they pressed against his thumb.

He didn't pull his hand away and didn't say anything. Every possible motivation cycled through his head, every way she might be trying to manipulate him into turning his back long enough for her to bury a knife in it. Breath and wind were warm against his face as she leaned closer and brushed her lips against his. Her fingers skimmed lightly along his arm and over his shoulder, coming up to trace the lower edge of his goggles.

"I just made everything weird, didn't I?" She cringed when he didn't respond. "I'm such an idiot. You aren't…I mean, you are into women, right?"

"You talk too much," he growled and pushed her away with his elbow.

Buffy's wounded expression disappeared quickly. She scowled at him and retreated to the back of the small cave. "Is that why Dame Vaako hates you so much? Let me guess, she caught you and the hubby in a less than dignified position."

With a single angry slice, he cut through the tether, grabbing one of the spears and stepping out onto the narrow ledge. "You're on your own, Slayer."

"Riddick? Where are you going?"

He moved quickly along the edge and began the careful climb down the side of the cliff. Another minute with her and his hands would be wrapped around her neck, choking the life out of her. That was the best-case scenario. She was spinning him around enough that he wasn't sure if he wanted to kill her or fuck her. 

"Wait! I can't see anything! Riddick!"

Once his feet reached the bottom, her voice was barely a whisper lost in the wind and he pushed away any trace of guilt threatening to manifest. The moons would be back up in a few hours for their final circle before dawn came and they would be enough light for her to find her way down out of the cave. He had no intention of spending hours trapped in a cave listening to her babbling.

If she really was the Slayer, whatever that was, then she certainly didn't need him to keep her alive. And if she wasn't, whether or not she survived the night wasn't his problem.


	3. Up A Creek Without A Scythe

**Up A Creek Without A Scythe**

There might have been difference in the shades of black. Or not. Buffy couldn't tell if her eyes were merely playing tricks on her or if they could actually see the outline of the cave opening. She could feel where the rocks curved away into open space and the narrow ledge.

"Damn men. Always leaving me alone…in caves. With ubervamps everywhere." Her fingers met empty air, stopping any progress she had thought of making in crawling out of the cave.

Finding the ledge wasn't difficult but unless she was intending to do a swan dive over the edge, there wasn't much more to do than lean out into the pitch black and curse silently at the jackass who'd left her. She was up a creek without so much as a teaspoon until the moons showed their sickly green faces and even then, they were barely enough for her to find her way back over hostile terrain to the Bascilica. Throw a few Turok-Han into the mix and things could get ugly before the pathetic sun finally rose.

Rock climbing in the dark was suicidal so she didn't leave the dark hollow of the cave until the first of the three moons had begun tipping over the far edge of the horizon. It reflected the sickly light from the sun and recast an equally weak glow over the terrain.

She'd considered staying in the cave and feeling sorry for herself until the sun came up or the Turok-Han found her and ate her. Since that wasn't a particularly appealing alternative she eased out onto the ledge, feeling her way onto her feet with tentative fingers. A spear was better than no weapon at all so she used the remaining length of the tether to tie it up against her back.

Time spent waiting for the moons gave Riddick a significant head start and she'd be hard pressed to catch up. As hardheaded and annoying as he was, she wasn't too proud to admit that she didn't want to be alone in this hell. She couldn't go back to the Basilica without him; Riddick was the only thing that kept Vaako from trying to use her as a pincushion. Of course, he might have been offended enough that he'd throw her to the wolves if she returned.

"How was I supposed to know he was so sensitive? Freaks out over one little kiss." she muttered. Her face was pressed against the rock and she tried not to choke on the dust she was inhaling, slowly making her way down handhold by handhold. 

Sweat had soaked her hair and cut paths through the dirt on her skin by the time her feet were flat on the ground. In the dirty silver toned landscape, she found herself depending more on the feel of the earth beneath her feet and the sounds of wind, water, and rustling grass to gauge her progress toward the dying fire in the distance. She planned to veer to the left, circle around the bluff, and head in the approximate direction of the Basilica; with her fingers crossed that the Turok-Han had decided Riddick was a better target than a tiny, skinny blonde woman.

Progress was agonizingly slow, her feet finding every single rock larger than a pebble to stumble over. Using the spear as a walking stick, she managed to keep from landing flat on her face; grateful for the Necromonger ideal of sensible footwear. The ground turned sandy as she neared the riverbank, making the stumbling less frequent. A familiar crawling sensation slithered up the back of her neck and she stopped dead in her tracks, scanning the darkness for anything that didn't look like grass shivering in the wind.

She crept as silently as possible in the other direction, gasping involuntarily as she stepped into the icy river. Freezing water tugged at the fabric of her leggings, soaking through and biting into her skin. With her Slayer sense turning into a screaming alarm in the back of her head, she got a good grip on the spear handle and tensed in preparation of an attack.

A low growl from behind spun her around but she could see nothing but shifting shadows outlined in pale silver. Taking a deep breath, she tried to clear her mind of anything as distracting as being terrified.

Standing in the near darkness with cold water up to her knees and at least two Turok-Han surrounding her made her heart race and her stomach sink. The crisis of faith that she had left behind in long forgotten Sunnydale reared its head to laugh at the false calm she had manufactured. With no vampires, there was no sacred calling and no weight of the world driving her into the ground. Being lost in a strange world had made it easy to push her past into the background and merely tread water, never trying to do more than just react to her surroundings.

Terror seemed to abate as she stood her ground, firm in the realization that she was still the Slayer and she would find a way home if it took the rest of her life. She hadn't let the First swallow Sunnydale without a fight and she wasn't about to be stuck in a hell with no designer clothes. The door that had brought her here had to go both ways and she'd kept a mental map of where the chasm should lie with respect to the Necromonger base camp.

She found what felt like flat ground to stand on and turned to face the growling darkness. "Okay. Let's do this."

The memories of what it felt like to fight a Turok-Han came flooding back as the first creature hit her with the impact of a freight train, knocking her back into deeper water. Splashing water helped her track their movements around her and the light from the moons drew streaks of silver over the surface that swirled around the Turok-Han. It was just enough for her guess what was coming and block their attacks.

Scrambling away from one of them, she barely managed to avoid getting teeth in her neck by twisting the spear around and jamming the end into the monster's neck. She winced as claws dug into her shoulder but kept twisting until the metal spearhead cut into the tough skin. It wasn't built like a flat blade, tearing and ripping through flesh rather than slicing neatly, but it did the job. Pressure disappeared suddenly as the Turok-Han burst into dust, sending her tumbling into the water.

Clawed fingers grabbed onto her hair, yanking her far enough out of the river to choke against the water in her throat. She was close enough to smell the stench of death and decay that hung over the creature like the primitive clothing it wore. Tough skin was rough as sandpaper, scraping against her throat as it tried to strangle her. Gasping, ears ringing from lack of air, she slammed a rock into the side of the creature's head. It howled once before shoving her back beneath the surface of the freezing water. She continued to struggle, pounding against the powerful arms and kicking at knees and ankles in an effort to knock the creature off balance.

The grip on her neck slipped away as she began to lose consciousness, cold water stinging in the cuts left behind by wicked claws. She was vaguely aware of sinking down until her back was resting against the smooth stones along the bottom of the riverbed. Her side collided painfully with something solid and then she was floating up, warm air hitting her face as the water fell away.

There was no growling, only the sound of the wind and her own frantic coughing as she replaced the water in her nose and throat with air. She grabbed onto warm, human skin and didn't care exactly whose arms were wrapped around her. By the time her entire body was out of the water, she was shivering violently.

"Right about those bastards. They are hard to kill." Riddick's voice was such a relief that she clung tighter to him. He kept twisting her from side to side, pulling and prodding her for a reason her numb brain couldn't comprehend.

"M-m-more?" she asked through chattering teeth.

"Got the third before those two found you. Should've stayed in the cave, Slayer."

"Y-you left m-m-me." Badly needing the warmth of his body, she refused to let go when he tried to move her arms.

"Hold on."

He barely needed to encourage her and she didn't bother wondering how he managed to keep hold of her with all the shivering she was doing. There was no way for her to distinguish consciousness from the periods of time lost to oblivion, each were equally black and numb. In the haze, she tried to ask where they were going but her words fumbled through frozen lips and got lost against his chest. Eventually, she stopped trying to stay awake and let the darkness take her.


	4. Of Sound and Fury

**Of Sound And Fury**

By the time they reached the Basilica, Riddick was convinced that she had been telling him the truth. The fact that she was still alive, her heart beating strong and steady was proof enough that she was unlike any human being he had encountered. If that was what it meant to be a Slayer, he'd call her a Slayer. His muscles were screaming with exhaustion, only pride and determination keeping his feet moving up the steps into the ship and through the courtyard. Pushing himself to the extreme was nothing new.

Vaako remained silently hostile as he passed by. Either gloating over the dried blood covering both Riddick and the woman in his arms or intimidated by the unspoken threat in the glare he received. He ignored questions from the other Commanders, who were unused to him returning before the sun had risen, and ordered food to be brought to him before entering his chambers.

Laying Buffy as gently as possible on the floor of the shower area, he carefully stripped away her torn and bloody clothing. There were deep gashes over her right shoulder, neck, and arms; ugly bruises beginning to blossom over her pale skin. He cleaned each wound carefully before applying the clear spray that coated skin and accelerated healing. It was one of the things that the Necromongers had gotten right in their strange, macabre world.

Once he was satisfied that the bleeding had stopped and she was no longer in imminent danger, he softly wiped the water from her skin and wrapped her in one of the linen blankets. He placed her on the large bed, checking her pulse once more before returning to the shower.

His encounter with one of the creatures had left him with wounds and bruises of his own before he'd managed to drive the spear through its chest. As difficult as the single Turok-Han had been to kill, there was no choice but to follow the others when they'd lost interest in him and turned back toward the cave. It made a certain amount of sense that if she could sense their presence, they could sense her. Even as he argued that he should leave her to fend for herself, he'd circled back to ensure they didn't snap her tiny body in half.

Scrubbing furiously at the blood and dirt, he wasn't sure if he was trying to scour away the dirt or the restlessness that always seemed to crawl under his skin when Buffy was involved. She distracted him. With her pale gold skin and thick, silken hair, the brief touch of her lips against his permanently seared into his memory. Those were distractions he didn't need when there was an entire army waiting for him to die. He couldn't let his guard down for a woman, regardless of how beautiful she was or how long it had been.

But there was something about her.

The trust in her eyes when she looked at him, the teasing in her voice even as she insulted him. She was so very human in a very inhuman world and he was more than unsettled to realize that he craved the feeling of humanity. Maybe being around her could show him how to be human. Then again, she might just drive him mad. He shook the conflicted thoughts away with the water dripping down his skin and wrapped another thick swath of fabric around his waist.

There was a feast fit for the Lord Marshal when he returned to the bedroom. Largely, he ignored exactly what he was putting into his mouth and focused simply on filling his stomach. In Slam, it didn't pay to look too closely at the ingredients. Inmates had been known to die painfully from eating bits of metal and composite that had been mixed into the slop by a sadistic guard.

Once he'd eaten his fill, he checked the chamber doors and barred them from the inside. The last thing he wanted was to be bothered by another one of Vaako's requests to join the battles in the south. He found a stack of clothing piled beside the food as he had asked but hesitated before dressing.

She was bright and warm, lying in a sea of cold and harsh. Everything about her was counter to this world, to his world. That she'd crawled out of the cave nearly blind and managed to find the right direction, knowing full well what was lurking out in the dark, was both idiotic and impressive. She'd killed one of the creatures, which was no small feat in itself, before the second had pushed her into the water. Maybe it was because the only other residents of this godforsaken place were Necromongers who were little more than the walking dead, but she looked like comfort and light incarnate.

It was more than he'd wanted in years. More than he'd dared let himself dream of. Trying to survive in Slam or any of the planets he'd been on could scarcely be called living; no time to think of anything but finding food and staying out of Death's path. Even at night, sleeping with one eye open most times, there was no point in dreaming of a life that was any different. The same cruel world would still be there when he opened his eyes. He'd given up on seeing anything else a long time ago.

He passed over the clothing and stretched out on the bed, watching her sleep. Getting dressed would break his tenuous grasp on the idea that his world could change, that having her with him would make the darkness at little less cold. More curious than anything else, he eased close enough to feel the heat from her skin. She seemed to instinctively curl into him, pressing her back against his chest.

Fatigue reared its ugly head and gained strength from the comforting heat of their bodies together, gnawing at his muscles until he couldn't hold his head up any longer. Despite her small size, carrying her at a run across the nearly fifty clicks to the Basilica came with a hefty price. Soft hair brushing against his face, he closed his eyes and drifted into a fitful sleep, not quite able push away the feeling that he'd missed something important.

Disjointed dreams paraded through his mind, filled with broken images, fire, and voices screaming senseless words. He never used to dream. Before he'd left Jack on Helion Prime, before she'd lost what was left of her innocence and become Kyra. That was the way of the world; he knew that better than most. Innocence shattered and lives full of meaningless nothing. But there were flashes in his dreams that felt like meaning, felt like truth; pieces that he could never hold onto once they faded away. In his dreams, he was back on T2 with the shrieking creatures flapping above him, only this time it was Buffy getting ripped out of his arms instead of Carolyn. Far off in the distance, Kyra was calling his name.

"Riddick. Wake up, Riddick."

He jolted out of sleep and grabbed onto the wrist in front of his face, tensing in anticipation of a blade. When enough of the dream had cleared from his mind, he recognized Buffy's face leaning over him and let go.

"You were having a nightmare." Her fingers stroked gently over his scalp, her naked body pressed tightly against his side.

"How long?" The words rasped against his dry throat.

"Have you been asleep? A while. I've been in and out myself. I think the sun's up now, so however long that is." She smiled benevolently and continued to caress his head. "Go back to sleep. I'll keep the monsters away. It's my job, remember? Sacred calling, chosen one, it's what I do."

He blinked at her, almost laughing at the idea that he needed protection from monsters when he, in fact, was the monster. A playful wink let him know that she understood the irony. The casual humor twisted like a knife in a part of him that he hadn't used for years, his soul. One thing was guaranteed, if she stayed with him then she was going to tear his world apart from end to end.

"Riddick?" She looked concerned and pressed her hand against his forehead. "You're warm. Are you hurt?"

Shaking his head, he brushed her hand away. "I've had worse."

"I don't doubt that." Ducking her head to hide the smile, she dropped her hand to his chest and casually traced one of his scars. "Thank you. For saving my life."

The proximity of her skin and the shy blush dusted over her cheeks had him fighting for control of the spinning turmoil in his head. There she was, touching him as though this was perfectly normal, as though there wasn't an entire army outside their doors just waiting to slit his throat. As though it was natural for her to care if he was injured, to curl against him, or to treat him like a human being. Even though she wasn't attacking him, he didn't know how to do anything but defend himself. Didn't know how to get a handle on anything that couldn't be wielded as a weapon.

"You're quieter than usual, which I didn't think was actually possible. What's up?" she prodded, fingers still skimming along his scars.

Catching her hand, he held it still against his chest as he searched his face for any sign of duplicity. There was nothing but open concern and compassion, neither of which made any sense in his world. He was out of his element and searching for any sort of solid ground, wanting to believe she was genuine but unable to make that leap.

Her brow furrowed at his continued silence. "I'm sorry about before. In the cave. I didn't mean…it sort of came out wrong. I wasn't trying to, you know, insult you or anything--"

"Shut up," he interrupted gruffly.

"I was just trying to apologize. If you want to be a grouch about it, that's fine with me."

Sliding his fingers into her hair, he pulled her down and kissed her as hard as he could, to stop the continual onslaught of words and also in an attempt to quiet the voices in his head. She kissed him back just as fiercely, gripping his shoulders with unnaturally strong fingers. They wrestled for dominance; rolling over the bed and tearing away any fabric that came between them, completely oblivious to wounds and bruises that got hit in the tangle of limbs.

The heat of her body was intoxicating; her moans and fingernails raking over his skin sending shivers down his spine. He pinned her down and she bucked against him, biting down on his shoulder. Legs wrapped around his waist and twisted him to the side, a predatory grin on her lips as she straddled him.

"You like it rough then. I can do rough," she said breathily.

"You're still talking," he growled.

"Why don't you make me stop?"

Twisting beneath her threw her off balance, she fell back and they both tumbled to the floor, still clawing at each other's bodies. Cold stone hit his back, stunning him long enough for Buffy to pull away from his grip. Warm fingers wrapped around his cock, demanding his immediate attention. She caught his eye with a coy look before lowering her head and sliding her lips over the tip.

He caught her hair before the warmth and wetness of her mouth tested his control, pulling her away and wrenching her down onto the floor. A foot caught him square in the chest and tossed him away from her onto the bed. She was on him the instant he landed, pressing wet kisses along his stomach and chest.

Her lips hovered next to his ear, breath hot against his skin. "You're holding back. Don't."

Growling low in his throat, he grabbed onto her hips and hauled her with him as he rolled. He caught her wrists and pinned them against the bed, taking a second to find a good angle before he thrust into her. The sound of his heart pounding was so loud that he barely heard her cry out. She bucked against him and struggled to pull her hands free. He loosened his grip but she immediately shook her head and he clamped down again.

Adjusting his grip gave her an instant to slip her hands away and lock her legs around his waist, flipping him over. Turnabout was fair play. Her eyes closed as she rocked back and forth, head lolling to the side and the sound of her moans almost as loud as his heartbeat. Her nails dug into his chest, leaving small crescent shaped indentations in his skin as she adjusted and readjusted her grip. Soft blonde hair cascaded down over her shoulders, dancing and falling in waves with each toss of her head. The entrancingly subtle bounce of her breasts punctuated each time she sunk down onto his cock.

He saw the expression on her face change, eyes widening the instant before she tightened around him and threw her head back with a cry verging on pain. Body quivering and blood pounding, he wasn't sure he could let go of his self-control even for the few seconds he craved. She looked down at him with heavy lidded eyes, lashes fluttering, and stroked his chest almost lovingly.

Years of pent up sexual frustration and desperation to feel anything other than the cold turned to sound and welled up in his throat, every muscle in his body taut as steel cable. A guttural shout forced its way through clenched teeth and he nearly blacked out when his body finally overrode his mind with a brutally raw climax.

They lay curled together, slicked with sweat, until the cool in the air began to chill their heated skin. Buffy stirred first, pulling away to reach for one of the tangled sheets to wrap around her body.

"You heal quickly," he commented softly, brushing his fingertips over the wounds on her back.

"Part of the Slayer package." Rolling lazily onto her back, she nuzzled his hand. "We should have done this weeks ago."

He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face and chose not to disagree with her on that point. "Think there are more of those things out there?" It wasn't really a question, he was simply looking for confirmation of his own suspicions.

"Does it matter? There is always some demon out there trying to kill you. Or me, as it were." She noticed the pile of clothing and crawled toward the end of the bed to get a closer look. "My shoes! How? How did you fix them?" Awestruck, she kept turning the boots over in her hands until she realized that the rest of her clothing was folded neatly in the pile. Each tear had been mended with nearly invisible stitches and all traces of the bloodstains had vanished.

It took effort to convince his body to move and reach for his own clothing. Working the stiffness out of his joints, he tugged on the familiar gray pants and tank style black shirt. "Got sick of you whining about your clothes."

"Remind me to whine more often." She stopped admiring the fit of her pants long enough to give him a wide grin. "Is it my birthday? Cause this is the best present ever."

Before Riddick could respond, the room began to shake. Trays of food clattered to the floor and one of the statues along the wall crashed down, breaking into chunks of jagged stone on impact. She stumbled, grabbing onto the bed for support as the room was rocked again.

"Earthquake?" she shouted over the rumbling.

Riddick tipped his head to the side, listening for a moment, and then launched himself toward her. He twisted to the side as his arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her over the bed, rolling off the far side and pressing her hard against the floor. The instant they hit the floor the main chamber doors exploded into bits of shrapnel. He didn't wait for the dust to settle before reaching under the bed to pull out the selection of weaponry he'd begun to store there. Too many years of watching his back made it impossible to sleep without at least one blade within reach. He handed her one of the smaller Necromonger blast guns and a long dagger with a serrated edge.

"If we get separated, stay low and find a way out. Don't wait for me," he growled.

"Riddick?"

He gave her a hard look. "Do not wait for me."

There was no way she would listen to him and he knew that. He also knew that she could hold her own against any of the Necromongers in hand to hand as long as she could stay out of range of their guns. All they had to do was escape and that was one thing he was very good at.


	5. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

**To Sleep, Perchance to Dream**

Buffy lost herself in the rhythmic and ever familiar motions of battle, shooting and stabbing her way through the melee in the arched corridors. The Basilica was an armory in itself, every decorative molding bearing wicked spikes and every piece of statuary armed to the teeth. She left the dagger buried to the hilt in an unknown Necromonger's chest and replaced it with one she ripped from the frozen hands of a stone warrior. Following Riddick's progress was easy even when she lost him from view; she needed only to follow the dead bodies piling up on the floor.

She reached the last turn before the corridor spilled out into the courtyard and made a dash for one of the side exits only to collide with something solid. Or rather, something solid collided with her jaw and sent her skidding over the inlaid floor. Eyes watering and head spinning from the impact, she wiped fresh blood from her lips and looked up at the familiar sneer of Lord Vaako.

"We were not meant to sit idly by," Vaako snarled. "It is you I have to thank for this. Without the distraction you provided, I would never have been able to move behind Riddick's back without fear of discovery. He would not take us to the war. So I brought the war to him."

"A war that no one can win. Sounds like you've taken a few too many blows to the head." She grabbed onto the hilt of a discarded dagger and got to her feet.

"It is the Necromonger way. It is our faith."

"No offense, but your faith kinda sucks."

It was hardly a fair fight. Unencumbered by the awkward and heavy armor, she was faster and more agile than he could ever hope to be. She stayed out of range of his bone crunching fists and managed to avoid the sharp end of the battle-axe slicing through air. The steel blade sang out clear, resounding notes every time it swung past her and struck the floor. Vaako was beginning to glower furiously when he suddenly stopped and took a step back. His eyes were focused over her shoulder.

"Buffy, get out of the way," Riddick growled ominously.

She sidestepped and glanced over her shoulder simultaneously. Riddick was holding Dame Vaako tight against his chest with a blade pressed into her neck hard enough to draw blood.

"This fight is between us," Lord Vaako said stiffly.

"He's always underestimated you," Riddick commented dryly, speaking to Dame Vaako rather than her husband. "But I know who really pulls his strings."

"You give me too much credit," she hissed.

"Do I? Let's see about that. Let's see what he does when there's no one whispering in his ear."

The standoff continued despite the battle raging around them between nearly identical Necromonger armies. Buffy dodged a stray body and made the mistake of getting within reach of Vaako. He caught hold of her with a vise grip around her throat and lifted her several inches off of the ground.

"Release Dame Vaako and I will spare your whore." He tightened his grip on her neck for emphasis.

There was no change in Riddick's expression as he tipped his wrist and sliced through Dame Vaako's throat. Warm blood sprayed out over both Buffy and Lord Vaako. His right arm came up and the barrel of the gun in his hand flashed blue. The energy ball hit Vaako squarely in the chest, collapsing his armor and ribcage with the blow. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Buffy wrenched free of his grip, holding her throat where she could feel bruises forming. "What the hell was that?"

"War." He turned away and plowed back into the fray with the force of a vengeful hurricane. There was little choice but to follow him, so she ignored the nausea at the back of her throat and fought her way past the bodies of fallen soldiers.

Her hands were moving with trained precision but her mind was scattered. Angel and Spike had killed an army by themselves, she'd seen their demon visages and learned to look past the fangs and yellow eyes. There had been no question that there was blood and violence in Riddick's past, that he would kill as necessary to get what and where he wanted. Part of her had never wanted to believe that a human being was capable of handing out casual death. Even Warren's murders had been born of rage and vengeance, not simply because someone had gotten in his way on the way to the video store.

Maybe it was her fate to be attracted to men with blood on their hands. Perhaps it was simply the universe's favorite game. As soon as she began to have hope for her future, regardless of what world she was in, the universe would throw her a curveball just to watch her scramble. The desire to go home intensified until it was an aching ball of homesickness lodged in her heart. Home where she knew all the dark secrets lurking in the shadow, where the monsters were familiar and she had friends with shoulders to cry on.

It was suddenly bright when she stumbled out of a doorway and found herself outside under the orange ball of fire. Riddick had chosen an exit that led immediately to a treacherous ridge of slippery shale. They moved fast over the crest, never staying in one place long enough for the rock to shift under their feet and soon the sounds of battle faded into the background.

She made a choice once the ground leveled out and veering to her right, heading toward the spot on her mental map where she had crawled out into this world and praying it was the right direction. The way home had to be there; she'd merely gotten off on the wrong exit the first time. And if it was a one-way portal to hell, then she would climb back out, find a ship, and start looking for a planet worth living on.

"Where are you going?" Riddick shouted after her.

"I'm going home." She kept her pace at a steady jog, afraid to look at him because it would make her decision that much more complicated. "If E.T. could do it, so can I. I'm going home to coffee and hair care products and a world with the color green."

If she had expected him to say anything more, she would have been disappointed but weeks of near silence had taught her to never expect words. He guarded them as closely as he guarded the rest of his secrets, forever holding back the real Riddick from the rest of the world. He was a stark contrast from Spike, who had never hesitated to tell her what was on his mind and in his heart.

After what felt like hours of jogging across the barren landscape with the sun beating down on her head and wind tugging at her hair, she began to feel decidedly foolish. She paused to take stock of her surroundings. It was early in the day so the shadow of the Basilica was opposite the afternoon shadow that she had followed to the ship. Her path home faced directly into the sun so she decided she must be in the right general direction and began scanning the terrain for any sign of the crevice.

"Here." Riddick nodded toward the ground, pointing out the barest remainder of a size six boot print that had been protected from the wind by a large stone.

"Guess I'm on the right track then." Further conversation was cut short when he took off in the direction of the print.

The sun was almost directly overhead and the Basilica was a shimmering shape in the distance when she saw the dark scar cutting across the landscape. Her lips were cracked and her mouth was full of dust when she finally arrived at the spot where she had climbed out into the sunlight.

"End of the road," Riddick said curtly.

She softened a little, imagining that the harshness in his voice was actually sadness to see her go. "Riddick."

"You don't belong here."

"Come with me," she suggested impulsively. His eyes were hidden behind the goggles and she could only guess at his expression as he turned away. She caught his arm and asked again. "Riddick, come with me."

"I don't belong in your world anymore than you belong in mine." He pulled away from her, jerking his head toward the hole in the ground. "Go on."

"And if it's a dead end, if I can't get back…will you wait?"

"No."

She nodded slowly. "I understand." It was harder to watch him walk away than she'd thought it would be even with Dame Vaako's blood on her clothes. She should have known he wouldn't be big on goodbyes. Before he was out of earshot, she called after him. "I hope you find her!"

Maybe he paused, just for a second, and maybe he didn't. She pushed the chaos out of her mind and focused on climbing back into the darkness. With her luck, it would be yet another dead end and she'd end up searching Hell for Riddick. Her insides were all tangled and messy, refusing to make sense when she tried to sort them out and make a decision about him. Not entirely human, not a demon; he was a frustrating halfway point that was all gray. She knew the feel of his body and the sound of his voice but nothing of what went on behind his silver eyes. Part of her had assumed that she would have time to find out what he was hiding.

Light dimmed as she descended deeper into the chasm, finding her way in the darkness that had become her home in the last few weeks. She was surprised at how comforting it felt to slip away from the light. If only Riddick were there to tell her where she was going.

A draft of stale air cooled her sweat soaked skin and either the dust or something else was making her lightheaded. With skinned knuckles and fingers raw from gripping onto the stone, she began to panic when she could no longer see the wall in front of her face and hadn't yet reached the bottom. Struggling to remember the smallest details of her original fall only took her focus away from safely climbing so she pushed those worries into the back of her mind.

Just as she was about to abandon hope and reverse her direction, her feet hit the solid earth of the bottom. Weary and relief nearly brought her to her knees. The wind had been blowing to her left before and she had followed it. This time she turned directly into it and felt her way along the narrow slot in the earth.

Eventually she reached a bottleneck that was too small for her to slip through and gritted her teeth for the agonizing climb back up to the surface. Handhold by handhold and foothold by foothold, she clawed her way up the face of the rock by sheer willpower. She was getting dizzier by the second. Dehydration, exertion, and whatever was filling her lungs all conspired to make her head swim and her skin tingle. She almost assumed that she was hallucinating when she realized she could see the outline of her hands.

She was almost giddy with relief when she recognized familiar sunlight streaming down into the earth. Lungs screaming and heart pounding, she scrabbled for purchase against the smooth tiles and pulled herself back into her world. Her heart hammered in her chest as though it had suddenly awoken from a deep sleep.

When she rolled onto her side, she realized that she had returned to Sunnydale High exactly as she had left it, scythe in hand. Narrowly avoiding a falling chunk of the second floor, she winced at the shooting pain in her side. The bleeding sword wound in her abdomen shouldn't have been there, it was long healed and forgotten. She was confused but certain that if she stayed where she was she would be swallowed up with the rest of the school, she forced her legs to function and ran.

The main entrance was a pile of rubble. She raced for the stairs, climbing them two and three at a time as she fought to stay one step ahead of the unplanned demolition. Everything else had to be forgotten, everything that didn't make sense and didn't fit together. The puzzle would be for later when she was safely out of harm's way.

Even the roof was crumbling behind her every step. She could see the school bus speeding away from the building and focused completely on the sight of it. One more step, one more jump. All that mattered was reaching the big yellow bus. Her lungs were on fire when she tensed for one last jump and launched herself into the air. Even braced for the impact, her teeth nearly rattled in her skull when she landed on top of the bus and grabbed hold of anything solid.

She watched in horror as the city continued to be swallowed up into the earth. It shattered as easily as a house of cards tumbling down with a mere breath. Everything she'd known, everything she'd fought for was being destroyed right before her very eyes and none of it made any sense.

Hair whipped against her face and the bus nearly skidded to a halt on the empty highway. She pivoted around and dropped off of the end of the bus. The crater before her was riveting in its silence and utter emptiness. An entire world had been destroyed.

"I don't understand. What did this?" Giles asked.

If she hadn't been in shock, she might have hugged him just for still being alive. Instead, she just smiled and headed toward the edge of the pit, remembering the cause of the destruction. "Spike." The green Welcome to Sunnydale sign wavered and then fell away.

"Looks like the Hellmouth is officially closed for business." Even Faith's voice was a welcome relief.

"There's another one in Cleveland. Not to spoil the moment."

Xander piped up in the background, "we saved the world."

"We changed the world." Willow touched Buffy's shoulder gently. "I can feel them, Buffy. All over. Slayers are awakening everywhere."

She barely heard the rest of what they were saying. The words were familiar but her mind was still trying to reconcile how she'd managed to compress weeks of living in Hell into a single moment of Earth time. Now wasn't the time to bring up insane questions with Giles or Willow. She wasn't sure there would ever be a time to tell that story. What was she supposed to say? How could she tell them that she had closed her eyes for an instant and lived a completely different life?

The reality was beginning to fade and blur around the edges. Could it have all been a dream? She didn't know if it was possible that she had been hit on the head and laid on the floor of the high school long enough to dream everything that had happened. Every detail of a world burning away under an orange sun. Of a riddle with silver eyes that could see in the dark. Dream or not, she doubted that she would ever forget the sound of his voice guiding her through the darkness.

Dawn was asking her what they were going to do and she smiled because this time she knew the answer.

They were going to live.


End file.
